


Skeleton Stories (200 followers)

by alicedragons



Series: Follower Milestones and Random Drabbles [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Smut, chapters tagged individually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicedragons/pseuds/alicedragons
Summary: A collection of Papcest and Fontcest (and Sanscest) one-shots from my tumblr. These are a mixture of smut, fluff, and angst. Each chapter has its own tags and warnings, so please make sure to read them. These aren't all pleasant.





	1. More Good than Harm

**Author's Note:**

> **Ship:** Edgelord Supreme (UF Papyrus/SF Sans)  
>  **Tags:** NSFW, Sadism/Masochism, College AU  
>  **Warnings:** Mild sexual anxiety, implied past self-harm, attempted self-harm during sexual pain play, use of safe word.

One of the perks of finally being given the grant to do his research, Razz decided as he opened his front door, was that he could now afford his own— _private_ —accommodations. Admittedly, they were fairly modest accommodations. He gave the connected kitchen-bedroom-living-room a ginger glance. But, cramped as they were, they allowed for a little alone time, when it was needed…

And ‘not-alone’ time, Razz mused, looking up at the monster on his doorstep. “Hello, love,” he purred, stroking the back of Edge’s hand, and chuckling when he yanked it away sharply. “A bit early, isn’t it?” Edge ignored him primly and marched inside. Razz carefully locked the door behind him—they certainly didn’t want to be disturbed. “Or am I just  _that_ alluring?”

The set of Edge’s shoulders was tight, and he gave Razz a hard look. “Get on the bed,” he ordered. Razz lifted a brow bone. There was something taut in the way Edge spoke and looked—something that extended beyond even that of an uptight professor of philosophy.

But Razz had never been one to turn down sex—especially not with Edge. He obeyed the command without question, lying back on the unfolded futon. Edge kneeled between his legs, sitting rigid. Razz frowned. “Something the matter, precious?” he asked, reaching for Edge’s face.

“No.” Edge caught his wrist before Razz could touch him, the grip erring on the side of too tight. “Take my clothes off.”

On any other day, Razz might have taken Edge’s intensity in stride. Hell, he goaded it—it was arousing as fuck. But today… something was off. “Sweetheart,” Razz said, gently. “You can tell me—“

“Take. My clothes.  _Off_.” There was a growl in Edge’s voice, and a thrilling mixture of fear and lust drove Razz to obey. He pulled Edge’s cardigan over his head, then began to unbutton the shirt beneath. He liked to savour this part. It felt like unwrapping a present.

But this time, Edge wasn’t having it. He smacked Razz’s hands away and hurriedly pulled open his shirt, a few of the buttons popping. Razz frowned, concerned, but Edge had already caught his hands again, his grip fierce. He held them to his own ribs, and met Razz’s eye, the command unspoken. Razz hesitated, and Edge’s grasp on his wrists tightened. “Please,” Edge breathed.

“Tell me what you need,” Razz said, quietly. Razz was an enthusiastic lover—sometimes overly, he’d admit. But this type of play required no small degree of trust and careful treading. Edge didn’t respond at first, an almost vacant look in his eye. “Edge,” Razz growled, softly.

Edge’s attention snapped back to the present, and he inhaled, steadying himself. “You,” he said. “ _This._ ” His tone grew earnest as he dragged Razz’s fingertips over his ribs. Razz shuddered pleasantly, warmth building beneath his jeans.

“You’re certain?” Razz restrained himself long enough to confirm Edge’s desires. Edge nodded. With a breath of satisfaction, Razz scraped his fingers down Edge’s ribs, preening when Edge’s breath hitched. Oh, how Razz enjoyed this. Edge’s bones were sturdy and strong, but scarred.  _Beautiful_. Edge shifted forward on the bed, and his pelvis ground against Razz’s.

“That’s it, love,” Razz purred. “Hmm, yes. Right there.”

“Harder.” Edge whispered the word so softly, Razz thought he’d misheard.

“What?”

“ _Harder,_ ” Edge repeated, a flicker of desperation crossing his face. Magic pooled at Razz’s pelvic inlet, and he hummed, digging his fingers deeper. “More,” Edge breathed, tipping his head back. “Come on, Razz, I know you can give me more than that.”

It was seldom that Edge used Razz’s name, and it was sobering enough to give Razz pause. “Precious… safe word?” Razz didn’t like asking—didn’t like  _having_ to ask. But he’d quickly learned that Edge was the stubborn type. Something that didn’t always sit well in these situations—but Razz had learnt to adapt, to double-check.

“No,” Edge said. “No, keep going.”

“Edge…”

“I’m fine,” Edge insisted. “Please. Don’t stop.”

Razz studied Edge uncertainly, but his features were schooled. Cautiously, he dug his fingers in deeper. Edge began to pant—then whine, as Razz’s fingers drew marrow. “Yes,” he gasped. “ _Yes._ Oh—fuck.”

Razz’s magic hardened into a cock, already erect. He groaned deeply and clung to Edge’s ribs, yearning. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, sitting up and grinding his hips against Edge’s. “Please. Let me—“

But Edge pushed him onto his back, leaning over him. “Not yet.” His eyes wandered to Razz’s hands, and he stroked the bones thoughtfully, deep need blossoming in his eyes. “You know what I want,” he said, voice low.

“Love…” Razz curled his fingers around Edge’s, stroking them. “Are you sure—?”

“Summon them,” Edge said, and his tone of voice left little room for disobedience. Razz’s cock twitched, and he conjured two forked pieces of bone. They were no longer than his forearm and the points were curved like pliers. They were threaded with veins of blood-violet magic—the manifestation of Razz’s arousal. Edge took them in hand, studying them with satisfaction. He stroked the tip of his finger over one of the sharp points, and Razz felt the burn of need coiling in his chest.

“Yes,” Razz uttered, voice a growl.

Edge eyed him placidly. Razz held his gaze and purred, lifting his hips so that Edge could feel the effect he was having. He felt a tremble pass through Edge, the magic at his own pelvis growing warm.

Without releasing Razz’s eye, Edge hooked the bones on either side of his ribcage, and  _twisted._

Razz immediately felt the hot pulse of erotic magic through the bones, delight yielded from Edge’s pain. He moaned, clinging to Edge’s femurs and dragging his hips down. “ _Fuck_ yes,” he growled, clawing into Edge’s legs.

Edge’s mouth fell open and he stuttered on a gasp, his breaths growing laboured. He twisted the forked bones harder, and cried elatedly. Razz could feel wet warmth through Edge’s pants—his own had grown considerably tight. He panted, bucking his hips needily. “Sweetheart, please,” he whispered, reaching for Edge’s zipper. “Please. I need you. I need to be inside you.”

“N-not yet,” Edge breathed. His fingers trembled around the pliers of bone, and Razz noticed the first signs of tears lining his sockets. Edge wrenched the bones harder at his ribs, and Razz knew at once that today was not a good one.

“Sweetheart, what’s your safe word?” he asked firmly, resting his hands over Edge’s, but not stopping him.

A hitched sob shook Edge suddenly, and he squeezed his sockets shut, shaking his head. Razz caught his wrists, growling gently. “Edge.”

“Socrates,” Edge said, letting go of the bones with a shudder. Setting a safe word had been the first thing they’d done upon entering this arrangement—the second had been to agree not to bring their area of study into the bedroom. The two had fit together quite well. There was no bigger turn-off than philosophy, in Razz’s completely unbiased opinion.

Razz dispelled the bones at once and caught Edge in his arms, cradling him gently against his chest. Edge wasn’t crying—he seldom did—but Razz could feel the dry sobs that quaked him, subdued and barely there.

He could also feel the lingering sensations left by the bones Edge had been using to  ~~hurt~~  pleasure himself—made of magic, Razz’s  _own_ magic. The unspoken cry of  _‘too much’_ he’d felt through them.Razz was thankful he’d noticed Edge’s reluctance when he had. He was trying hard not to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t…

He reached for the quilt draped over the foot of the bed—stitched by his brother. Each patch was infused with benevolence and caring intent. Razz kept it close for these sessions. He wrapped it around Edge’s shoulders—and his own, for good measure. The shift in emotion was immediately apparent. The lingering itch of Edge’s play—more indicative of pain than pleasure—slowly bled out of him.

“Don’t do that to me, love,” Razz murmured, gently, “You know it isn’t fair.” He pushed down the flicker of irritation at Edge’s behaviour.  _ ~~Did he not realise he was hurting Razz, too?~~  _It would do neither him nor Edge any good now to get angry.

“I know.” Edge’s voice almost cracked.

Razz huddled him closer, trickling his fingertips down his naked ribs. He tucked Edge’s head into the nape of his neck, and sighed. “It’s alright, precious. Just rest.”

Razz had often wondered at Edge’s scars. He’d asked about them once, but Edge’s response had been cold and closed-off. He hadn’t asked again.

He had his suspicions, though. Sometimes, he wondered if these sessions were doing more harm than good—if he was only feeding into Edge’s old habits. But most of the time, the good seemed to outweigh the harm. Edge often left more at ease than he had been upon his arrival—even when their sessions had to be cut short like this. And besides…

Razz held Edge closer, shutting his eyes and breathing him in. He was selfish. Sometimes, he needed Edge too.


	2. Collars and Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** TwistedEdgelord (Twistfell Papyrus/UF Papyrus)  
>  **Tags:** NSFW, Collaring, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmate AU  
>  **Warnings:** Brief anxiety, implied off-screen killing

There was no mistaking the tremble in Twist’s voice, or the too-quick ramble of his words—even over the phone. “I’m on my way,” Edge said, already out the door. He checked his inventory to make sure he had what he needed before stepping through the portal.

Blackberry was waiting for him at the front door, hands twisting together, fretful. “He’s upstairs,” he told Edge.

“When—?”

“About an hour ago.” Edge breathed, then nodded once, heading for the staircase. Blackberry looked unsettled. “Edge…”

“Go stay with Sans and Papyrus—or the Swap brothers,” Edge said without halting, hurrying up the stairs.

Blackberry hesitated. In the past, he may have argued further, but he’d long since learnt to trust Edge when it came to his brother. Inhaling, he nodded tightly. “Okay.”

Edge didn’t check to see if he’d left. Didn’t have time. Didn’t want to channel his focus onto anything but this—but Twist.

He opened the door slowly when he entered Twist’s room, and made sure his footsteps were loud enough not to startle Twist. “It’s Edge,” he announced himself, his voice steady. The room was dark, curtains drawn and lamp off, and Edge squinted. “Twisted…?”

“Ya shouldn’ be here.” The words were followed by a hoarse laugh, and the rustling of bedsheets. “Get out.”

“Come now, Twist, I thought we were past this.” Edge reached tentatively into his inventory as he spoke, making sure his movements were slow and deliberate as he approached the bed. He could feel the roiling of Twist’s magic through their bond—fresh with EXP.

And oh, it was bad. This would require a steady mind as well as a steady hand.

As Edge’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he found Twist sitting on his bed with his back to the wall, knees drawn tightly to his chest. His fingers were threaded together firmly, and marrow stained the backs of his hands. Edge ignored it.

“I have something for you,” he said gently, taking the item from his inventory and holding it in front of him. An offering.

Immediately, Twist’s eye-light sparked with interest. He eyed the collar—clean, black leather and golden studs—then glanced back at Edge. “I… don’ need it,” he said, stubbornly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Edge scolded, while remaining soft. He took another daring step forward and Twist flinched away.

So. He wanted to play that game. That wasn’t a problem. Edge was adaptable. He remained where he was and drew himself up. “Come here, Twist.”

Twist shook his head, humming. Edge felt a flicker of anxiety through their bond, and he inhaled deeply, projecting calm, stability, benevolence. “Papyrus. Come here,” he repeated, more firmly.

For a few seconds, Twist didn’t move, his eyes still darting frantically between Edge’s face and the collar. Edge opened his mouth to repeat the instruction, but Twist was already shifting across the bed. He sat before Edge and ducked his head. Compliant. Beautiful. “Good boy,” Edge breathed, clipping the collar around his neck and sighing in satisfaction as the energy in their bond relaxed slightly.

Edge bent to kiss the crown of Twist’s skull before he climbed onto the bed and lay on his back. He guided Twist on top of him so that he was straddling his Edge’s legs. A flicker of doubt crossed Twist’s face, and Edge reached up and hooked two fingers beneath the collar, pulling him down to meet his eye. He stroked the side of his face in unspoken admiration. “I think you’re strong enough to take control, don’t you agree?”

Twist glanced away and began to fidget. “Edge… I don’ think ya know what yer askin’ me ta—”

“I am perfectly aware of what I’m asking of you.” Edge cupped Twist’s face, fingers still curled around the collar. He drew Twist down further, their faces almost touching. “I trust you,” he said, flooding their bond to emphasise his words. “Do you trust me?”

When Twist faltered in his response, Edge ground his hips up and—yes. Twist was very much aroused, his magic congealing at his pelvic bone. Along with the erratic tick of violence in their bond, was lust. A feverish desire, burning hot and eager.

“That’s it,” Edge breathed as Twist pressed back down against him, their magic meeting through their pants.

“Fuck. I want ya, sweetheart,” Twist panted, clinging to Edge’s femurs. “I need ya.”

“I’m yours,” Edge told him. “I’m all yours.” He scratched down the back of Twist’s neck, and Twist purred loudly.

He scrambled to undo Edge’s belt, half-tearing his pants off. His shaky fingers fumbled around his own belt, and Edge cupped his hand, steadying it. “Easy, love,” he murmured, stroking his carpals.

Twist paused to breathe before shifting his own pants down his femurs. His magic had already formed into a cunt, dripping with slick golden magic. With one hand around Twist’s collar, tugging it as a reminder of his support, Edge ran a finger over Twist’s folds, humming. “Beautiful,” he whispered, and Twist purred louder.

The energy in their bond was still hot and frantic—but it had shifted from violent to sexual, which was exactly what Edge had been going for. His cock throbbed when Twist ran his hand over it, and a growl built in his throat. Magic flooded the cracks in Twist’s damaged socket and his gaze fixed on Edge’s face. “Ya ready fer me, precious? Please—I need ya.”

Edge nodded and grasped Twist’s collar tighter, pulling him down and kissing him deeply. Twist seized the opportunity to sink his hips, taking Edge’s cock in all at once. Edge moaned into his mouth while Twist’s purr built to a growl. He began to buck his hips, his mouth not leaving Edge’s as he delved deeper, kissing and licking every inch of his mouth.

Edge panted against Twist, the warmth of his cunt second only to the sudden, intense flood of love and compassion through their soul bond. Twist clung to Edge as he rode him, grabbing at his shirt and arms and drawing him closer, kissing him deeper, fucking himself harder on Edge’s cock. He managed to wrangle a string of subdued grunts and moans from Edge, drowned out by his own carnal growls.

When Edge felt Twist’s cunt tightening around him, he gripped onto his collar and tugged. Twist whimpered in response, coming hard and clamping down on Edge’s cock. “Fuckin’ hell, Edge…” he gasped as Edge released his magic inside Twist, groaning deeply and holding him firmly against him.

Already, Edge could feel Twist’s magic settling through their bond. He slumped against Edge’s chest, his purrs vibrating through him. He nuzzled against Edge’s neck. “Fuck. Yer always so good in bed, precious,” he hummed. “Really know how ta take the edge off.”

Edge tutted at the poor joke, but wrapped his arm around Twist nonetheless, holding him close. “Better?” he murmured, kissing the top of Twist’s skull and moving to unclip his collar.

Twist caught his wrist abruptly, and for a split-second, Edge feared the worst. But there was no ill-intent in the act, and the magic between them was calm. “Leave it on,” Twist breathed against Edge’s shoulder, stroking the back of his hand. “Feels good.”

Edge sighed but nodded, relaxing his hold on the collar. He dozed to the sound of Twist’s dulcet purring, content that his soulmate was safe.


	3. All in a hard day's work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Honeyvenom (US Papyrus/SF Sans)  
>  **Tags:** NSFW, Frottage, Office AU  
>  **Warnings:** Semi-public sex, workplace sexual relationship, Boss/Assistant relationship
> 
> Additional Note:  
> US Papyrus - Honey  
> SF Sans - Black

“You’re late,” Black muttered without looking up from his paperwork.

“ah.” A casual glance at the clock. “so i am. sorry boss.”

Black inhaled as his assistant leaned against his desk, sipping his coffee—so loudly, Black was certain it was deliberate. “Honey,” Black uttered, his tone clipped and sharp, “don’t you have work to do?” Slowly, he glanced up at his assistant, taking in his appearance. Shirt untucked, pants unironed, collar ruffled. As Honey’s boss, Black was appalled. As… not-his-boss, however…

“at least let me finish my coffee first, boss,” Honey said, holding eye contact with Black as he drank from his cup. “it would be a little rude not to let me finish.”

Black blinked, then frowned. Honey was observing him closely, measuring his expression. His smile remained easy and relaxed, the ever-present sparkle of mischief glinting in his eye-lights. Sighing stiffly, Black returned to his paperwork, deciding his energy was poorly spent humouring Honey’s childish game.

Yet as he worked, he couldn’t shake the tingling feeling across his bones. Honey’s scrutiny was tangible, his sweet scent warm in the air, the prickle of his magical projections pleasant—and for god’s sake, did he really have to drink so loudly? He was humming too, and it was driving Black mad.

Oh, Black knew exactly what he was doing. He was certain Honey considered it something of a sport at this point—but Black refused to rise to the bait. Without looking up, he said, “Honey. That’s enough.”

“enough? i’m only halfway through the cup,” Honey said, tilting his coffee cup with a lifted brow-bone.

“You are well aware that I am not referring to your drink,” Black said coolly—and  _no,_ he wasn’t at all tempted to dare a glance up at Honey. Certainly not when he was simply itching to taste that warm tongue Honey had just swiped over his teeth. Or to kiss those fingers Honey was tapping against his desk. To trace the pattern of that smooth white collarbone exposed by Honey’s haphazard shirt with his teeth…

“Close the door, Honey,” Black murmured. He realised he’d pressed a hole through the page on his desk with his pen. He placed it aside, neatly stacking his papers at the corner of his desk. “It’s a little noisy out there. I’d prefer not to be disturbed.” He smiled congenially, folding his hands on his desk.

The corner of Honey’s mouth twitched into a smirk, and he lifted a brow-bone. “stuff to get done?”

“I do have things to do, yes.” Black delighted in the pale golden blush that broke across Honey’s cheekbones, illuminating his freckles. Sliding off Black’s desk and discarding his half-finished coffee in the bin, Honey closed the door. Turning slowly, he studied Black, a pondering look on his face.

“anything else you’d like me to do, boss?”

“One more thing.” Black beckoned Honey over and he approached, his steps slow and cautious. Black had quickly learned that Honey was often more talk than action when it came to sex. It took a little coaxing to get him to relax enough to initiate anything—but when he did,  _stars,_ was it worth it. “Sit,” Black instructed.

“there’s only one chair, boss, and you’re using it,” Honey pointed out.

Black lifted a brow-bone, leaning back and letting his knees fall apart. “And when has that ever stopped you, sweet one?”

Black didn’t miss Honey’s small, but sharp, intake of breath. He fidgeted as he came to stand before Black, pressing himself back against his desk. His eyes strayed from Black’s face, and he cleared his throat. “um…”

“Front-facing,” Black told him. “I want to see that pretty face of yours, love.” A rumbling purr built in his chest at the glimmer of arousal that crossed Honey’s face. He hummed, satisfied, as Honey moved to straddle his lap, kneeling on either side of his legs. Honey faltered, his hands trembling as he steadied himself on the chair’s arms. Black cupped his face and angled it downward, meeting his gaze. “It’s alright, sweet one,” he whispered. “You have control. Stop if you need to.”

Honey’s mellow smile returned, and Black eased, leaning back. “there won’t be any stopping, boss. i have a job to do.”

“Well then,” Black said, gesturing at his lap, where his magic glowed through his trousers. “Get to work.”

Honey had always been somewhat gentle when it came to intimacy, though he encouraged Black to treat him with vigour when he was subbing (and oh—Black fulfilled his wishes). It was nice to lean back and sacrifice control every now and then, though. Letting Honey take care of him—whether he was on his knees or bouncing himself in Black’s lap—was blissfully tension-relieving. The delicacy with which Honey treated him was wholly unfamiliar to Black. And stars, if it wasn’t  _arousing._

In his trousers, Black’s cock was stiff, twitching with every grind of Honey’s hips against his own. He sighed deeply; he could feel Honey’s soft, warm magic through his own pants—combined with the quiet gasps escaping Honey, it elicited a low purr from Black. “That’s it,” he breathed, groaning as Honey began to press down harder, moving his hips more quickly. “You’re such a good boy, Honey. My sweet Honey…”

Unexpectedly, Honey leaned forward and held Black, clinging to his shoulders as he ground their pelvises together. He buried a groan in the nape of Black’s neck, and Black growled, clutching him tightly. He stroked the back of Honey’s skull, grunting as he felt his peak approaching. “Fuck. Keep going. I’m close…” He sighed, guiding Honey’s hips down harder, faster,  _rougher._ Fuck, he needed more and Honey was withholding the final bit of stimulation he needed.

“Honey,” he growled as Honey’s movements began to slow. “Don’t you dare—”

A knock on the door, and Honey was scrambling off Black’s lap. He barely had time to crawl beneath the desk before the door opened. Black hastily straightened his tie, strategically placing his hands over his lap and pushing his chair into the desk. “C-Captain Alphys,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “To what do I owe the—”

“Cut the crap, asshole,” Alphys said, shortly. “Emergency meeting, my office, ten minutes.”

“T-ten minutes?” Black swallowed. Beneath the table, Honey wasn’t idle. His hands were creeping up Black’s femurs, thumbs tracing patterns along the bone through his pants. “I’m afraid I’m—a little busy. I have…” Alphys caught him with a penetrating stare, and Black scowled, gritting his teeth. “Of course. Captain. I’ll be there.”

“Make sure you’re not late.” Alphys eyed him momentarily, suspicion crossing her face. “Where’s that assistant of yours? Late again?”

“He’s just—” Black’s breath caught. Honey’s hands had reached their prize, and heavens, Black’s traitorous cock was lapping up the attention—even through his pants. “Finishing. Some work for me.” Black bit down on his tongue, his teeth firmly clenched together. “He shouldn’t be long.”

Alphys grunted. “Make sure he’s at the meeting too. We need someone to serve drinks to the suits.”

“Certainly.” Black’s smile was becoming strained. “I’ll make sure he’s—” He coughed to hide a whimper. “He’ll be there.”

Alphys looked at him strangely, her eye searching his face. He maintained his wavering façade however, and with a final stiff nod, she left him, closing his office door.

At once, Black pushed back from his desk and stared at Honey, incredulous. “You little shit!” he snapped. “You know if I’m caught fucking my assistant I could be fired, don’t you?”

Honey tilted his head, entirely unrepentant. “is that so?” He hummed thoughtfully, his tongue darting across his teeth. “so, why do you do it then?”

Black inhaled, closing his eyes and muttering a curse beneath his breath. “Come here,” he instructed. Honey crawled across the carpet, resting his head in Black’s lap. “Hey, none of that,” Black said, lifting Honey’s chin with his finger. “I’m supposed to be angry with you.”

“a pity, really,” Honey mused, hooking a finger beneath Black’s zipper. “since i didn’t get to finish my coffee, i was hoping you’d let me…” His eyes darted over Black’s crotch, a smirk playing across his features.

“Go ahead,” Black conceded with a wave of his hand. “But make sure you clean up every drop—I can’t very well visit my boss covered in my own—”

“i’ll do a proper job of it, boss.”

And he did. Honey had always been an excellent assistant after all.


	4. Can you afford it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Honeymaple (US Papyrus/SF Papyrus)  
>  **Tags:** NSFW, Sex work/Prostitution, Penetration, Bottom + Dom Swap Pap, Top + Sub Slim  
>  **Warnings:** Use of the term 'whore' in reference to sex workers, manipulation out of money, Swap Pap is an asshole

“need a ride, sweetheart?” Slowing his car, Slim rolled down the window, glancing up at the scantily dressed skeleton monster on the sidewalk. Slim offered him a grin, leaning against the window frame. “you look like you’re heading in my direction. what’s your name, love?”

The skeleton glanced over his car, brow-bone lifted. It was a modest make, Slim would admit. It spoke poorly of his financial position—which was naturally what the other monster would be interested in. Still, Slim maintained his façade of confidence, chuckling and reaching into his back pocket, producing a wad of notes from his wallet. “this what you’re looking for?”

The skeleton’s expression immediately shifted, his face softening into a sweet smile, accentuating his pretty features. “i suppose i can be convinced,” he said smoothly, leaning forward and bending over so that his face was level with Slim’s. “how far away are you?”

“just a couple of blocks,” Slim told him. Temptation urged him to reach out and touch the other monster’s smooth face. The thought of being able to run his hand over the soft dusting of golden freckles that coloured the other skeleton’s cheekbones made Slim’s fingers tingle. But he restrained himself, smiling instead. “it’s getting a bit cold,” he remarked, glancing up at the gloomy black sky, where heavy clouds hung.

He looked back over the skeleton’s delicate frame; his legs were bare, and his spine was exposed but for a small cropped shirt and the leather jacket draped over his slender shoulders. “you could… stay at my place for the night?” Slim offered, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously.

The skeleton smirked, raising a brow-bone. “can you afford it?”

Slim laughed, glancing up and down the street. It was quiet, but for a few other whores and straggling drunkards. It hardly seemed a fitting place for the pretty skeleton before him. “i—i can, but…” Slim swallowed. “do you… want to?”

The skeleton blinked, drawing away briefly. “i—” He frowned, before regathering his composure, his silky smile sinking back into place. “of course i do, love. just for you.”

His smile growing, Slim leaned over and opened the door to the passenger seat. “hop in, then. i’ll keep you nice and warm tonight, precious, don’t you worry.”

 

The skeleton introduced himself as Honey on the drive back to Slim’s place. It was fitting, Slim decided. Everything about him was soft and sweet and gentle. His fingers brushed Slim’s arm when they walked through the front door to Slim’s apartment, and he smiled. The expression lit up his face—quite literally, his freckles glowing and his golden eyes brightening. Slim found himself growing hot at the mere sight.

The bedroom was dark, only the rainbow of lights from the city filtering in through the grimy window. Slim reached for the lamp switch, but Honey stopped him with a hand around his wrist. “leave it,” he whispered. “this is better.”

“i want to see you,” Slim replied softly, cupping Honey’s face and running his thumb over his jaw. But Honey shook his head, stepping close and pressing himself against Slim, their mouths almost touching.

“seeing will cost you extra,” he murmured, his teeth grazing Slim’s cervical vertebrae. Slim shuddered, closing his eyes as Honey began to press his tongue between the bones, his magic stimulating the sensitive cartilage of Slim’s neck.

“o-okay,” Slim gasped, scrambling for his wallet as Honey pressed forward, walking them towards the edge of the bed. “i’ll pay.” Honey paused, and Slim could feel him smiling against his neck. Flicking on the bedside light as Slim handed him the notes, he drew back, looping his arms around the back of Slim’s neck. Slim’s breath caught at the sight of his face, which was flushed with deep golden magic.

“on your back,” Honey instructed, tipping him onto the bed. Slim obeyed, shifting to make room for Honey to kneel between his legs. Honey leaned over him, their chests flush, and ran his tongue over Slim’s jaw. Slim sighed, cupping the back of his skull and letting his eyes drift closed.

He felt Honey’s tongue moving to the corner of his mouth—before he pulled away suddenly. Slim opened his eyes, blinking. Honey’s face still hovered a few mere inches above his own. He tried to sit up to close the distance between their mouths, but Honey pushed him back down. “extra twenty for the mouth,” he said, leaning  _tantalisingly_ close.

Fingers shaking, Slim hastily nodded and retrieved another crisp note from his wallet. Honey smiled, slipping it beneath the waistband of his tight skirt alongside the others. He leaned down again—and this time, he pressed their mouths together. Slim wasted no time deepening the kiss, Honey’s cloying aroma flooding his senses and extracting a soft moan from him.

Honey’s hands were already wandering to Slim’s belt, which he made quick work of. Slim shivered as the cool night air came into contact with his magic—but the chill was quickly replaced by Honey’s warm fingers, which pressed into the pool of unformed magic, coaxing it into the shape of a cock. His breath hitched as Honey brushed a fingertip over the head.

Shuffling forward so that their pelvises were in line with each other, Honey lifted his skirt. Slim almost gaped. “you—” He swallowed, his cock twitching. “n-no underwear?” he stammered, his eyes fixed on Honey’s soft vulva.

“no need.” Honey lowered his hips marginally, the head of Slim’s cock brushing his outer folds. “you want it inside me?” he asked. Slim could only nod, a broken whimper catching in his throat as Honey moved lower—just out of reach of being  _enough._

“i—i’ll pay!” Slim gasped out, his fingers curling around the bedsheets.

The casual smile on Honey’s face briefly flickered to something more genuine as he pressed his teeth together, as if to stop from laughing. “extra hundred,” he said, after composing himself.

“a-a hundred?” Slim asked, eyeing his rapidly thinning wallet anxiously. He looked back at Honey… and nodded decisively. “a-alright. yes.”

The moment he’d safely tucked away the notes, Honey sank down, Slim’s cock hilting inside him all at once. “oh—fuck!” Slim’s head dropped back and he groaned, the heat of Honey’s cunt bliss around his cock.

Honey hummed, leaning forward as he rode Slim, his breath ghosting over Slim’s teeth. “stars… that’s nice,” he panted, cupping Slim’s skull and kissing him hard. Slim was completely at his mercy, his composure crumbling beneath Honey’s hands.

“fuck—oh  _fuck._ ” Slim closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the movements of Honey’s hips. The sound of Honey’s tender moans and gasps flooded Slim’s conscious, and he groaned, his hands wandering to Honey’s hips. “please, honey, i—i’m so close.”

“hmm…” Slim opened his eyes to find Honey with his head tilted back, his teeth parted as he moaned softly. “where do you want it?” he asked, trailing his hand up Slim’s sternum, his fingers catching on the ridges of his bones. “inside me?”

Slim shuddered at the possibility, his cock throbbing inside Honey’s walls. Seeming to sense Slim’s impending climax, Honey leaned forward against his chest, brushing his mouth over Slim’s. “how much more can you afford?” he whispered, eyeing Slim’s wallet.

A broken whimper left Slim, and he shook his head, biting down on his knuckles to restrain himself. “i—i don’t care just—take all of it!  _please,_ honey, i—”

Honey hushed him with a soft kiss, whispering words of encouragement as Slim moaned through his climax, his hot magic flooding Honey’s cunt. Slim clutched Honey to his chest, gasping as waves of pleasure pulsed through him.

He lay still for a few minutes, the pleasant hum of his afterglow warming his bones. Kissing him on the forehead, Honey carefully extracted himself from Slim. Emptying the remaining notes from his wallet, he made for the door, casting Slim a pleasant smile over his shoulder. “pleasure doing business with you, love.”

“w-wait!” Slim called as Honey reached the door, stopping him. He turned, regarding Slim with a raised brow-bone. Swallowing, Slim sat up. “what… what’s your name? your real name?” Pretty though it was, Slim doubted Honey was this monster’s true name. Few whores shared such details with their clients. Still, a small part of Slim hoped…

Considering for a few seconds, Honey approached Slim, coming to kneel over him on the bed. He smiled at him, resting his hand against Slim’s cheekbone. Instinctively, Slim leaned into the touch. Honey inched forward and leaned in, his breaths gracing the corner of Slim’s jaw. “how much are you willing to pay to find out?”


	5. One hundred and twelve dates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Honeyketchup (US Papyrus/UT Sans)  
>  **Tags:** Fluff, Angst, First Date, Mild NSFW (non-explicit)
> 
> Warnings in the end notes contain spoilers.

One date. One-hundred dates. What was the difference, really?

To Stretch? Nothing. But to Sans…

Huffing to himself, Sans pushed the thought aside. It was a pertinent question, but one he tried to ignore. He eyed his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie. He’d opted for a suit this time—not his usual style, but after a hundred odd dates, he figured he may as well spice things up a little.

“You’re looking sharp, brother,” Papyrus said from the doorway. He watched Sans with a somber smile.

“do you think it’s too much?” Sans asked, studying his reflection uncertainly.

“One hundred and twelve dates, and you’re worrying about your attire?”

“it’s his first date, pap,” Sans said, quietly, trying to smooth his lapels.

Sighing, Papyrus approached him, adjusting his tie. “And has he ever turned you down because of your clothing—because of anything?”

“no…”

Papyrus beamed, and his smile was almost bright enough to hide the sorrow beneath. Sans felt guilty. He was making this about himself—he knew it got to Papyrus too. He was trying to come up with a way to voice these thoughts when the doorbell rang downstairs. “I’LL GET IT!” Papyrus said cheerfully, his perky demeanour reappearing like a mask. He darted from the room. Sans contemplated teleporting downstairs to beat him to the door, but even short-cutting required effort. Effort he lacked the capacity to muster.

He trudged after his brother, hesitating at the top of the staircase when he heard the front door opening. “GOOD EVENING, STRETCH.” Papyrus’ voice came floating up the stairs. “WELL, DON’T YOU LOOK HANDSOME?”

_Blue picked it out for me._

“uh, thanks pap. blue… picked it out for me.”

Sans smiled to himself. He never got tired of that one. He could  _hear_ the blush in Stretch’s voice alone. He descended the remainder of the stairs, and his smile widened, unbidden. “heya, stretch. like the pants.”

“liar.” Stretch’s smile relaxed when he saw Sans. He approached him, and a thrill jolted Sans’ chest when Stretch bent to kiss his cheekbone. “you’d much prefer them off me.”

“i would,” Sans admitted, taking Stretch’s arm. He was dressed lightly tonight—a thin dress-shirt and slacks (and sneakers, of course, he never forewent the sneakers). Small details changed from date-to-date. Sans always looked forward to them.

“you’re wearing a suit,” Stretch remarked.

“too much?” Sans asked, fretting briefly.

“a thong would be too much.”

Sans snorted, letting his hand drop from Stretch’s waist to his coccyx. “pervert.”

“YOU’RE BOTH PERVERTS,” Papyrus said, exasperated.

Sans winked at his brother. “shall we head out, then?” he said to Stretch.

“i was hoping that wouldn’t be the first sentence you used the word ‘head’ in it tonight,” Stretch said, lifting his brow bones playfully.

Sans had been expecting the joke, but it never ceased to delight him. He chuckled and tentatively settled his arm around Stretch’s waist. Stretch relaxed into his hold, and Sans exhaled internally. Stretch had yet to turn down his affections, but Sans always worried that detail would change.

As they passed Papyrus, he placed a hand on Sans’ shoulder, stopping them. “HAVE FUN AND BE GOOD,” he said, before crouching down to hug Sans. “Hundred and twelfth time’s a charm,” he murmured. Sans’ soul warmed at the tradition, and he nodded as Papyrus stood again. “I WILL NOT BE HOME TONIGHT,” he announced, clearing his throat. “AT ALL. MEANING THE HOUSE WILL BE EMPTY.” He shot Sans a loud wink, before hurrying out the front door.

Stretch watched him go, amused. “great that your brother’s so supportive.”

“yeah, he’s pretty great,” Sans said, fondly. “and you…” Sans cleared his throat when Stretch lifted a brow bone. “you—you’re pretty great, too.”

Stretch tilted his head, unsuccessfully suppressing a smile. “noted.” He spoke casually, but he was blushing deeply. Sans had tried counting his freckles once. He yearned to reach out and touch them—but even after a hundred and eleven dates, it felt inappropriate.

Instead, he took Stretch’s hand. “ready to go?” he asked.

As expected, Stretch fidgeted, looking hesitant. “actually…”

They ended up on the couch. Sans put on a movie, but he didn’t pay much attention to the title he picked. They seldom made it as far as Snowdin town—let alone Grillby’s. Stretch’s ability to tolerate crowds varied. But it had yet to extend beyond the five-minute mark—after which he’d cling to Sans’ hand and beg him to turn around. Sans didn’t mind. He wasn’t here for the date, anyway. He was here for Stretch.

He remained an acceptable distance from Stretch on the sofa, but smiled to himself when Stretch’s fingers found his own. They always did. He’d been through it a hundred times, but it never ceased to thrill him.

And by the time the credits were rolling, Stretch was pressed up against Sans, their mouths locked together. Stretch was hasty, urging Sans to move things upstairs, but Sans wanted to savour it; the touch of Stretch’s fingers on his hip, the feeling of Stretch’s spine under his palm, the sharp breaths that escaped Stretch’s mouth.

Too soon—yet not soon enough—they were in bed together. Sans’ soul burned desperately at every touch, at every kiss, at every soft murmur that fell from Stretch’s mouth. And when Stretch gasped Sans’ name for the  ~~hundredth and twelfth~~  first time, tears welled up in Sans’ eyes. He held Stretch fiercely close as he came.

“you’re crying,” Stretch remarked, running his thumb over Sans’ tear-stained cheekbone. “is something wrong?”

 _i love you,_ Sans wanted to say.

He caught his breath and shook his head, clasping Stretch’s hand and leaning down to kiss him. “you’re just… pretty amazing, you know?” he said instead, fighting back more tears.

Stretch looked relieved, smiling brightly. “amazing enough for a second round?” he asked, winking.

Sans laughed and lifted him up, bundling him in his arms. “always, stretch.”

Sans had considered giving up—not bothering with this whole ‘first date’ charade, letting go of Stretch. He’d considered it a lot. What was the point, after all? Underswap would Reset again, and Stretch would forget everything. Sans would be sent back to square one.

Letting go would be easy. It would certainly put Sans’ mind at ease. Rid him of this burdensome cycle. Sans should have given up, really. No one was worth a hundred and twelve Resets.

… no. That wasn’t true. Stretch was. Stretch  _was_ worth it.

Sans would never give up. He was too deeply in love. He cradled Stretch close as he slept and squeezed him. This was a rare moment. It only came around once every Reset. And for Sans, this moment was worth all the pain.

 _And_   _maybe,_ whispered a small voice in his head,  _just maybe—this one would stick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Reset angst/Resetting relationship. Nothing triggering, just sad.


	6. Completely Nutty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** TwistedMoney (Twistfell Papyrus/Swapfell KH Papyrus)  
>  **Tags:** Fluff, Marriage proposal, Detective AU  
>  No warnings! This is pure fluff.

Cash tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, yawning. He cast another glance down the empty street, unsurprised to find it—well, still empty. Apart from the flickering streetlamp above, nothing was out of the ordinary. Sighing, he slumped back in his seat, folding his arms. “this seems like a bust,” he said, wearily. “i think we should head back.”

Twist looked up from his Rubik’s cube. “Give it time,” he said, snickering when Cash lifted a brow-bone at him in dubiety. “My sources are reliable, trust me.”

“don’t…” Cash inhaled, pinching his nasal bridge between two fingers. “please don’t ask me to trust you. you know i can’t do that.”

Twist looked affronted. “Patches—how long’ve we been partners fer? Three years?”

“feels like ten,” Cash mumbled.

Twist gave Cash a knowing smile, his eye-light flickering away from his Rubik’s cube briefly. Leaning over, he kissed Cash softly on the cheek. “Here’s ta hopin’ I live that long,” he whispered, giving Cash’s hand a squeeze as he blushed.

Drawing his arms tighter around himself, Cash gave a mere grunt in response, staring straight ahead. “you’re an idiot,” he muttered, earning himself another light peck on the cheekbone.

“Yup. An idiot in love.” Twist leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard. His smile grew as Cash blushed. “Very in love.”

“sh-shut up,” Cash said, his voice lacking any true reprimand. He was having difficulty suppressing the small smile that threatened to cross his features. “and get your filthy shoes off my dashboard, asshole,” he added, trying to inject a little more irritation into his voice. He shoved at Twist’s legs and was rewarded by another playful kiss. Pushing Twist away, he mumbled, “pay attention. this is supposed to be a stakeout.”

“Thought ya said it was a bust?” Twist lifted a brow-bone as Cash scowled.

“it is,” Cash said, stiffly. “we should leave. go get takeout or something.”

“Ya hungry?” Twist reached into the cubbyhole and rummaged around. He emerged with a packet of assorted nuts and dried fruit, grinning proudly. “Always prepared.”

Cash grimaced. “ugh. no thanks.” He narrowed his eye sockets, glancing at the cubbyhole. “and—this is  _my_ car. what’s your crap doing in there anyway?”

Twist shrugged, emptying the small packet into his mouth in one go. “Wh’s yers ‘s mine,” he mumbled through the mouthful of nuts. Cash pulled a face as a few crumbs fell onto his seat—his  _recently washed_ seat.

“that’s not how it works, twisted,” he said, sighing. “we’re not married.”

Twist shrugged indifferently as he swallowed. “We could be,” he said, picking up his Rubik’s cube and resuming his fidgeting. Cash froze, blinking as Twist glanced out the window for a few moments, contemplating. “Ya know what? I reckon yer right. Nothin’ interestin’ has happened outside a’ this car fer the past hour.”

“twisted…” Cash’s voice was barely a whisper—and Twist seemed not to hear him, still staring out the window.

“Alrigh’, Patches, I’ll take ya out.” He turned to glance at him. “Whaddaya want? Chinese? Or ya in the mood fer somethin’ spicy?” He frowned, his socket narrowing as he examined Cash’s face. “You alrigh’, Patches?”

Cash swallowed, shaking his head. “you said that… that we could…”

“Oh  _fine,_ we’ll just get you some bloody doughnuts,” Twist relinquished, exasperated. “Honestly, Patches, the day I get ya ta eat proper food is the day I—”

“ _twist._ ”

Twist snapped his mouth closed, blinking. “… Yeah?”

Cash looked him dead in the eye, trying to prevent his hands from shaking. “did you say that—that we could g-get… married?”

“Oh.” Twist looked surprised for a moment, before leaning back and shrugging. “Yeah. Don’ see why not?”

Cash’s chest tightened, his soul racing. “b-but… why?”

“Well, fer one—I love ya.”

“yeah, but…” Cash trailed off, the knot in his chest squeezing. “i dunno, i thought that you didn’t really… that this was all… for fun,” he finished, his voice small.

Twist watched him, his expression holding a lot more weight than was typical of him. He began to grow fidgety, humming in consideration. He glanced away from Cash for a moment and went still. “Oh. Shit. That’s our guy,” he hissed, scrambling for the door handle.

Cash glanced up. A hooded figure had just emerged from the warehouse ahead of them, his head ducked as he hurried down the street. “Here,” Twist said as he opened his door, drawing something from his pocket. “Hold this fer me, will ya?” He slid the gleaming silver ring onto Cash’s finger before hurrying down the street in pursuit of their suspect.

It took Cash a few moments to gather enough of his composure to rouse himself into following Twist. As he ran, he couldn’t help but smile, cradling his hand to his chest.


	7. Safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** TwistedSpicyHoneyDog (Twistfell Papyrus/UF Papyrus/US Papyrus/SF Papyrus)  
>  **Tags:** Supernatural AU, Mild angst, Fluff, Cuddling with dragons and werewolves  
>  **Warnings:** Near death, almost freezing to death (the angst is resolved, don't worry!)

In the dead of winter, the forest was perilous. Though threads of silver moonlight trickled through the thick, black trees, one could easily become lost in their depths. Travellers often went missing in the night. Or they simply died of cold, none could be sure. The forest lay still and silent—though only fools made the mistake of assuming nothing dwelled within the darkness. Few ever made the choice to traverse it.

For Edge though, there had never been a choice. He cradled Rus against his side as he stumbled blindly through the trees, trying to stop his bones from clacking together as he shook with cold. “R-Rus, we need to move faster,” he whispered frantically, his teeth chattering. “They’ll catch us.”

Rus was dragging his feet through the snow—his bare feet. Edge could feel the warmth of Rus’s magic dwindling through his thin clothes. His soft whimpers of protest were weak and broken, and he clung tightly to Edge, burying his head against his chest. Edge clutched onto him, trying to urge him forward. He squinted through the dark trees ahead, but the blackness swallowed everything more than a few feet in front of them.

Despair began to envelop Edge’s frozen soul. They had escaped from their pursuers—but to what avail? They would likely die here. The forest was unending, and Rus was already fading, his bones like ice to the touch. Edge could feel the unforgiving chill creeping into his own bones. He came to a stop, holding Rus against him.

Rus barely moved, his trembling fingers still wound in Edge’s coat. Edge could hear the rattling of his bones echoing through the uncaring forest as they shook. “edge…” Rus breathed, his voice as brittle as ice.

Edge bit back a sob as Rus met his gaze—Rus’s eyes were pale and dim, and thin flakes of frost coated his face. Gently dragging Rus towards a nearby tree, Edge lowered him to the ground, before dropping into the snow beside him and tugging him close. He held him against his chest, whispering soft, empty words of comfort. “We’re going home, Rus,” he murmured, kissing his forehead and bundling him closer. “I’m going to take you home and we’re going to see the ocean again. We’re going to walk across the sand and go swimming in the sea.”

Rus’s quiet hum was faint, even in the dead silence of the forest. He began to whimper feebly, trying to press himself closer to Edge. “edge… s-so… cold…”

Edge hushed him, curling around him and holding his head against his chest as he trembled and shook. “I’ll keep you warm,” Edge promised, his tears freezing on his cheekbones as they fell. “I’ll take you home and light a fire in the hearth, and we’ll fall asleep to the sound of rain on the roof and crackling logs. Would you like that, Rus?”

Weakly, Rus nodded, his shaking lessening as his body began to still. Edge clung to him desperately, sobs and violent shivers wracking his entire body. “Go to sleep, Rus,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you… I love you.”

As the biting cold enveloped him, Edge closed his eyes, giving in to the darkness. Dying didn’t seem so bad, he thought, with Rus in his arms.

 

Nothing could ever compare to how it felt to hold Rus against him, Edge had once told himself. When he was so close—warm, safe, protected—nothing else in the world mattered. Edge didn’t have to worry, because everything that was important to him was right there with him.

So when Edge slowly began to regain consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was the feeling of Rus pressed against his chest.  _Everything’s okay,_ instinct told him. His soul felt warm—in fact, his whole body did. A cozy, engulfing heat spread down his spine and through every one of his bones, quelling the chill of the night forest. Unbidden, Edge began to purr, shifting on the hard ground beneath him to press himself closer to Rus.

His mind was still fighting the lingering effects of sleep, and his eyes took a few moments to adjust as he slowly pried them open. All around them were walls of stone, light flickering off them and illuminating the cavernous space in warm golden light. Edge could hear the crackling of a fire and smell the cinders of burnt logs. Just in front of him, Rus lay curled up. He was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling. Relief flooded Edge as he noticed a healthy tinge of magic in his cheekbones. Reaching up, he cupped Rus’s face, pressing their foreheads together.

Behind him, something stirred. Edge stilled abruptly, his breath catching. He and Rus weren’t alone.

A deep rumble filled the cave, startling Edge. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Rus, holding him fiercely close. When he dared a glance over his shoulder, he was met by the deep gaze of two large eye sockets. One was cracked and broken and the other held a single eye-light of burnt gold in its depths.

Edge found himself paralysed in the face of the creature’s attentive gaze. Its long, bony snout twitched as it surveyed him, and it huffed out a long breath, the warmth of which Edge could feel travelling through his bones.

He flinched away in a panic as it leaned closer to him, and it paused, blinking its large sockets as if confused by his fear. Its eye-light flickered to Rus, then back to Edge, questioning.

Edge shook his head, squeezing Rus closer and not daring to remove his gaze from the mighty creature. It regarded him for a moment before slowly drawing away and climbing to its feet. It towered above Edge, the crest of its skull almost brushing the cave ceiling. Behind it, Edge could see a pair of wings tucked against its back, and a tail curling around its ankle.

It flexed its joints, the cracking of its large bones echoing through the cave. Then, slowly, its features began to morph and shrink, its bones clicking as they twisted—until at last, a skeleton monster stood where the creature had, with nothing but the splintered eye socket to indicate the beast had ever been there at all.

The skeleton offered Edge a warm smile, crouching down beside him and glancing over him. “Sorry if I scared ya, sweethear’—but it was the bes’ way ta keep ya warm.” Edge could only stare at him, his arms still latched firmly onto Rus, who slept on. “Name’s Twist,” the skeleton told him. “Found the two a’ ya freezin’ ta death out in the dark wood. We decided ta bring ya here ta keep ya warm—hope ya don’ mind.”

Edge’s voice shook as he managed to wrangle out a single word. “W-we?”

Twist looked past Edge to a corner further back in the cave near the fire. “Pup? C’mon, no need ta be shy. They ain’t gonna hurt us.”

Edge spun in time to see a second monster emerging from behind the crackling flames. Though less immense than Twist, this creature was no less frightening. It bore almost a canine-like appearance—but its talons and fangs were far longer, and its eyes held a level of intelligence unnatural of a mere beast. It approached tentatively, its large paws scraping against the cave floor.

Down the cave passage, the wind howled, sending an icy breeze swirling into their warm sanctuary. In Edge’s arms, Rus’s bones began to shake as the cold bit at them. “C’mere, Pup,” Twist said softly, giving the creature an encouraging smile. “Why don’ ya help keep our new friends warm?”

Pup’s crisp amber eyes darted to Edge and Rus, uncertainty flickering in their depths. “’S alright,” Twist said, lowering himself to the ground behind Edge. “They’re friends, yeah? Not here ta hurt us.”

Pup hesitated for a few seconds before carefully lowering himself to the ground behind Rus, inching towards him with his muzzle dipped. A warning growl rumbled in Edge’s chest as Pup approached, and he held Rus protectively closer. Pup froze, his eyes darting to Twist. Behind Edge, Twist leaned in to murmur, “Don’ worry, precious, Pup’s as gentle as they come—he won’ hurt ya. He wants ta help—look.” Twist reached a hand over Edge and held it against Rus’s trembling chest. “Yer lover is shiverin’ again. Pup can take care a’ him—can’t ya, Pup?”

Pup inclined his large head, his teeth parting as he started panting. Twist cast Edge a grin, sliding in behind him and pressing himself against Edge’s back. “Yer safe here, love. You can be sure a’ that.”

Edge turned back to Pup, anxious. In his arms, the vibrations of Rus’s shivers had intensified, his bones cool beneath Edge’s fingertips. Looking up at Pup, he nodded tensely. “P-please,” he whispered, his voice cracking on the word. “Help him.”

Pup closed the distance between himself and Rus, pressing his large, warm body against Rus’s back. He nestled into Rus, pushing his muzzle against Rus’s jaw and whining softly as he began to lap at his face. Magic stirred in the air, and Edge could feel the protective intent emanating from Pup. Behind him, Twist pressed closer, enveloping him in his arms and effectively sandwiching Edge and Rus between himself and Pup.

“We’ll look after ya,” Twist purred against Edge, breathing hot, magic-charged air against the back of Edge’s neck. “Yer safe with us, precious, I promise.” Edge felt Twist’s bones enlarging and distorting behind him as he slowly morphed back into his second form, gently wrapping Edge and Rus and Pup in his large wings

The tension gradually left Edge as Twist and Pup poured affection and care into their warm, magical projections. Rus had settled, his sleep peaceful as he curled himself into Edge’s arms. Where he belonged. Safe at last.


	8. Kitchen Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Edgelord Supreme (UF Papyrus/SF Sans)  
>  **Tags:** Cooking together, Office AU, Fluff, Mild angst, Hurt/Comfort  
>  **Warnings:** Eating disorder, skipping meals

He was shaking again.

Razz noticed it the moment he stepped out of his office. Edge was hunched over at his desk, his fingers trembling above his keyboard. He looked tired too, the magic that flushed his joints and face paler than normal.

Razz considered him with a heavy soul, and silently cursed him—him, and his poor habits (and Razz’s own inability to leave the problem alone). Edge flinched when he approached, looking up at him with quick composure. “Yes, sir?” he asked, with forced cordiality.

Razz eyed the spreadsheets stacked on Edge’s desk and the documents open on his computer screen. Edge was a hard worker. He always had been. And sometimes… he worked a little too hard. He was often at his desk when Razz left in the evenings—long after everyone else had gone home. And in the mornings, he was the first one here.

“Do I pay you enough, Edge?” Razz asked, sitting on the corner of Edge’s desk.

Edge blinked at him, taken off guard. “I—yes?”

Razz lifted a brow bone. “So you would turn down a raise if I offered you one?”

Suspicion crept across Edge’s expression. “What is this about? Boss.” He spoke with stiff politeness, the placid look on his face more unsettling than anger would have been.

“Well, clearly,” Razz said, touching the back of Edge’s hand to stop it from shaking. “I’m not paying you enough to afford breakfast.” Edge stared straight ahead, rigidly still. Sighing, Razz gave Edge’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Dinner at my place, tonight. I’m making quiche.”

“Do I have a choice?” Edge asked, quietly.

Razz considered. “No.”

“Then I’m cooking,” Edge replied, before ducking his head again and returning to his work.

Razz snorted and rolled his eyes. “As you command, love.”

 

Edge was late, but Razz didn’t begin preparing dinner until he arrived. Edge rolled his eye-lights when Razz opened the front door, foregoing the greetings and marching straight to the kitchen. “I see good manners are just a work formality to you,” Razz said, following him.

“They’re only a necessity when in polite company,” Edge replied, coldly.

Razz’s mouth curled into a smile. Edge had his back to him, his shoulders tensed as he studied the ingredients Razz had set out on the countertop. “This is new,” he commented, picking up a tub of feta cheese.

“New brand,” Razz told him. When Edge looked dubious, Razz scooped out a bit on his finger and tasted it. “It’s good. Care to try?”

“I’d prefer to put it in the quiche first,” Edge said, dryly, but Razz could see the slight sag of relief in his shoulders. He waited patiently while Edge examined the rest of the ingredients. When he’d finished, he turned to Razz, resolved. “Shall we begin, then?”

“If you’re satisfied,” Razz said. Edge grunted and gathered the mixing bowl and pie dish from the cupboard. He was familiar with Razz’s kitchen at this stage. Sometimes, Razz felt as if he lived here.

Razz worked on the crust while Edge made the filling. They didn’t speak to each other; the silence was comfortable. Razz caught Edge eyeing him from time-to-time, watching the dish closely as he spread the ingredients across the base. He’d made a joke once about poisoning the food—Edge hadn’t taken it well, and it had been impossible to get him to eat that night. Razz didn’t make those jokes anymore.

When the quiche was in the oven, Razz sat down, dusting his hands on his apron. Edge stood stiffly by the oven, hands twisted behind his back. “Why don’t you sit down, love?” Razz asked gently.

“I’ve been sitting down all day,” Edge told him without looking around.

Razz lifted a brow bone. “Touché. Though I would prefer to see you relax every once in a while.”

“I am relaxed,” Edge said, tightly. Razz smiled somberly. In the past, he might have become frustrated with Edge for being stubborn. He knew better now. Getting angry with him only pushed him further into his shell. So, reluctantly, he conceded, and Edge remained in front of the oven, standing like a military officer awaiting command (or gunfire).

 

Edge waited for Razz to take the first bite before tentatively scooping a piece of quiche onto his fork. He chewed slowly and deliberately, his expression tight and strained. “Something to drink?” Razz asked, trying to keep the tension from his voice. “Wine? Champagne?”

“Champagne is just sparkling wine,” Edge said, flatly.

“Is that a no?”

Edge stared at his plate. “Wine. Please. Red, if you have it.”

After a glass, some of the tension left Edge, and he managed a few more bites. Razz served himself a second portion when he’d finished, ignoring the heavy, well-fed feeling in his soul. He could manage another helping, if it put Edge at ease.

He looked up when Edge’s knife and fork clattered against his plate—still half-full. “Had enough?” he asked. Edge just stared at him solemnly, and Razz stood, collecting his plate. He squeezed Edge’s shoulder—an unspoken  _I’m proud of you._ Edge was stiff again, his features taut.

“Do you need to stay the night, precious?” Razz asked once the dishes were clean. He took Edge’s hand and stroked his carpals. Edge drew it away and pulled his coat off the back of his chair, heading for the door.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he said, quietly.

A glimmer of frustration built, but Razz fought it back, sighing deeply and following Edge. “I like taking care of you,” he said. “I like… I like you.” They’d been doing this for months, but the confession carried weight. Razz swallowed and took Edge’s hand again, holding it between both of his own. “Stay? For me.”

Edge studied him, expressionless. Razz remembered the day he’d joined the firm. He’d wondered how one person could carry so much surly weight in their eyes. He still longed to see Edge smile more often.

“Fine,” Edge said, at last. “But no wandering hands.”

Razz smiled, relieved—if not surprised—at Edge’s acceptance. “I wouldn’t dare.”

 

Razz climbed into bed next to Edge, who was lying with his back to him. He inched close to him—close enough to touch—but kept his hands to himself, true to his word. “You’re coming over for dinner again tomorrow,” he told Edge.

“Is that an order, boss?” Edge asked, tilting his head.

“Yes.”

There it was. The faintest smile. “Very well.” He took Razz’s hands and drew them around himself, settling into his arms. “I wasn’t serious, you know. Feel free to put your hands where you like.”

Razz’s soul swelled, warm and comfortable. He rested his head against the back of Edge’s neck, inhaling. “As you command, precious.”


	9. Schrodinger's Werewolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Puppymoney (with background Papcest OT5)  
>  **Tags:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural AU (based on Lady_Kit's Atypical AU), Rushing to the hospital/waiting in the hospital  
>  **Warnings:** Near death, anxiety, mention of car accident, needles, graphic injury
> 
> This one has a happy ending, in case you're worried!

“i’m fine—i said i’m  _fine._ ” Cash pushed away the paramedic, scrambling towards Pup’s stretcher. “pup—puppy, can you hear me?” He grasped at Pup’s hand, squeezing it.  ~~Ignoring the marrow that soaked Pup’s entire torso. Ignoring the sheer volume of magic spilling onto the ambulance floor.~~  “pup…”

“Sir, we’re going to need you to give him some space.”

“fuck off,” Cash growled in warning, clutching Pup’s hand tighter.

“Sir, you’re injured. You have a cracked rib and possible vertebral damage. If you’d just let me—“

“get back!” Cash snarled as the paramedic touched his shoulder. She flinched at the sudden flare of magic and Cash’s bared fangs. Sighing and stepping away, she let him be. Tempering an unhinged siren was clearly above her paygrade.

Cash winced as the ambulance jolted, pain spearing through the fragmented bones of his shoulder. But he couldn’t think about his own superficial injuries right now. He didn’t care about them. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but Pup.

~~Pup. Whose ribcage was half-collapsed and whose spine was almost definitely the wrong shape. Pup. Who was so wet with his own spent magic his bones were a shocking violet.~~

_~~And it was all Cash’s fault.~~ _

“His body isn’t accepting the mana.”

Cash perked, glancing up at the paramedic tending to Pup’s vitals. “what’s wrong?” he asked. “what does that mean?” But no one was listening to him, focused intently on trying to staunch Pup’s wounds and inject him with chemicals Cash wasn’t familiar with. Which should have put Cash’s mind at ease—they were  _helping_ Pup ( ~~were they? Could they be trusted? What if they were just making it worse? What if–~~ )—But Cash’s frustration exceeded his logic. “tell me what’s happening!” he growled, panicked.

“We’ve got the right mana type, but his body is rejecting it,” the paramedic explained, his eyes darting to Cash a little fearfully. “It may be because of his species…” He pressed against Pup’s wounds. ( ~~What use was it? There were so many. Pup had already lost too much magic. Too much. How could they possibly hope to stop it?~~ )

Cash stared, squeezing Pup’s hand tighter. “well— _do_  something about it,” he pleaded, hoarsely.

“We’re trying, sir,” the paramedic said with a deliberate look at his colleague.

Pup was so still. Unnaturally still. His normally strong bones broken and shattered like glass. Like nothing. “p-pup,” Cash whined, clinging tighter to Pup’s hand. “pup i’m sorry i’m so sorry please—”

“Increasing the mana dosage,” the paramedic said. He frowned as he pressed the tip of the needle beneath the outer membrane of Pup’s soul. ( ~~So pale and broken and fragile. How was it even still going?~~ ) “We might be able to overwhelm his system into accepting the mana temporarily until we reach the hospital.”

“Do they have wolf magic in supply?” his colleague asked.

“Let’s hope so.”

Cash clutched Pup’s hand tighter, surprised the bones hadn’t shattered in his grip. He pleaded silently, his chest heaving. “don’t leave me, pup. stay with me. don’t die. don’t you dare fucking die, you bastard, or i’ll kill you.” He fought against tears.

 

Cash paced the hallway, his soul thrumming. He cast another desperate glance at the operating room, but the door remained shut.  ~~ _Pup was behind that door. Dead or alive, Cash had no way of knowing. Schrodinger’s Werewolf_ , his mind supplied, unhelpfully.~~

“Cash?”

Cash flinched violently, magic sparking briefly–only to realise it was just Twist. The dragon’s eye-light was lit, hot and fierce. His grip on Cash’s fractured shoulder was too tight. Cash didn’t care. His breath was coming too quickly—yet not at all, a squeezing pressure around his soul. Twist’s eye-light flickered to the door, then back to Cash. “Let’s sit,” he said, unnervingly gentle.

“no, no, no—what about pup?” Cash asked frantically, looking at the door. “what if—”

“Ye’ve done what ya can. Now ye’ve jus’ gotta wait.” Twist spoke the words like a grudge—he was just as unhappy about the fact as Cash was. Cash still fought him as he half-dragged him towards the waiting room. Edge and Rus were sitting together, huddled close. They looked up when Twist and Cash approached—as did half the other people in the room, Cash still caught between sobbing and snarling as he attempted to pry himself free of Twist’s hold.

Rus stood up immediately and hurried over to them, placing an arm around Cash’s shoulders. Cash fought his projections—but to little avail. “fuck you, demon,” he growled, even as he melted into Rus’s side. Rus made no ‘maybe later, siren’ joke, as he might have on a normal day.

They all huddled close on one of the sofas, none of them speaking. What could be said? They all knew it was Cash’s fault. He’d been the one driving. He’d gotten angry. Again.  _Always. Why did he always have to_ —

“Pup gave you that, didn’t he?” Edge spoke so quietly, Cash almost didn’t hear him at first. When he noticed Edge’s eyes on the half-moon ring around his left index finger, he curled the hand to his chest, eyeing Edge dangerously.

“what of it, vampire?”

Edge didn’t speak. Closing his eyes, he nudged himself against Rus, who was dozing. Cash went stiff when at first Edge touched his hand. Edge had never been good at projecting—not in the way Rus and Twist were. And yet, at the same time, the touch was pleasant, undemanding. As Twist, in his half-asleep haze, began emanating warmth, Cash let Edge hold his hand, and let the tears fall.

 

“Someone’s awake.”

“i’m not awake, twisted. fuck off.” Cash buried himself deeper into the sofa cushions, but Twist gripped his arm and yanked him to his feet.

“Not you, asshole.”

Cash rubbed his shoulder, staring at Twist as realisation dawned on him. He noticed that Rus and Edge had disappeared, the early morning sun shining through the windows. “i-is he…?”

“He wants ta see ya,” Twist said, grinning.

A flood of emotions overwhelmed Cash’s soul—relief, anxiety, joy… fear. “is he… angry with me?”

Sorrow briefly struck Twist’s expression, but his relaxed smile quickly returned. “He’s alive. C’mon. He’s been askin’ fer ya.”

Edge and Rus were sitting on the sofa beside Pup’s bed when they reached his room, the curtains drawn against the sun and Edge dozing against Rus’s shoulder. Cash froze in the doorway, nerves suddenly gripping him. Pup glanced at him, his soft purple eye-lights dilating immediately. “are you hurt?” he asked at once, scanning the dried mana staining Cash’s clothes.

Cash stared at him. “am i—” He shook his head, incredulous. “am  _i_ hurt? you fucker! i thought you were dead!”

“i’m not,” Pup said, weakly indicating his heavily bandaged body with his only free hand. “almost. they had werewolf mana in supply. somehow.” He shot Twist an accusatory glance, but Twist had suddenly become very preoccupied with the hospital’s magazine rack. Pup shook his head and turned back to Cash. He was silent, observing him closely with a faint smile.

Cash approached the bed slowly, wringing his hands together. He sat on the chair opposite Rus and Edge. Rus was regarding him astutely, as if he might snap. Cash wasn’t completely confident he wouldn’t.

He scanned Pup for a few moments as they sat in silence, trying not to focus on the uneven rise and fall of his crumpled chest. Cash’s whole body ached, the physical consequences of the crash finally creeping up on him.

“you know which part hurts most?” Pup asked quietly, and Cash’s chest clenched. He shook his head mutely, a sick feeling rising in his chest. Pup lifted his right hand, displaying his crooked fingers and Cash laughed—actually  _laughed_ –in surprise. “you have a firm grip,” Pup murmured, amused.

“well, we all knew that already,” Rus supplied, while Edge grumbled something irritable in his doze, even as he nuzzled into Rus’s shoulder.

“thank you,” Pup whispered to Cash. He laced their fingers together, and Cash’s soul stuttered. Pup rubbed his thumb over the crescent ring on his finger, sparking warmth across Cash’s carpals. “for staying with me.”

Cash glanced over Pup—over his shattered ribcage and his fractured collarbone and his—

“it’s not your fault,” Pup murmured, and Cash felt a flood of warm intent in the air. “i’m alive because of you. because you—”

“but you wouldn’t have needed help in the first place if i hadn’t—”

“Hey, none a’ that,” Twist scolded. “Scooch over.”

Cash frowned at him. “it’s an armchair.”

“An’ I’m a dragon. Now make space.”

Cash ended up awkwardly bundled on Twist’s lap—not the most comfortable, but he couldn’t complain with the warm purr of the dragon against his back. There had been a time when Cash would have protested any sort of physical affection—from the dragon especially. But now…

He leaned forward, closing his hand around Pup’s and absorbing the pleasant hum of magic he projected in return. “i’m glad you’re alive,” he murmured, sighing in deep satisfaction. “thank you for… for living.”

Pup smiled, half-amused, half-sorrowful. “you’re welcome. it’s really not so bad,” he said, glancing at Edge and Rus, asleep on the sofa, and Twist, curled around Cash. His eye-lights lingered on Cash, and a brittle purr rumbled through him. The sound, though weak, was enough to temper the remaining static in Cash’s soul. He closed his eye, and allowed himself the moment of peace.


	10. The Cruelty of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Spicyhoney  
>  **Tags:** Detective AU, Angst, Forbidden Love  
>  **Warnings:** Superficial gunshot wound, betrayal, heartbreak, implied break up ( ~~but my poor heart can't take permanent break-up so let's pretend they get back together, okay?~~ )

Complicated.

It was the only word Edge could use to describe his marriage to Rus. Messy. Confusing. At times, frustrating. It didn’t make sense—in fact, it shouldn’t even have  _been._ They were so wrong for each other.  ~~Yet, it felt so right~~. Their lives were so different—they didn’t work.  ~~Still, their love was seamless~~. Being married to Rus threw a spanner in the works of Edge’s life. ~~But being with Rus was the only thing that kept him sane.~~

Nothing about their marriage was perfect. (Well, except for the sex, perhaps.) Rus was the single flaw that threw Edge’s entire lifestyle into chaos. He complicated things. He pushed Edge’s  _perfect system_ off-kilter. He  _ruined_ things. He—

He was everything, and Edge had never loved a person more.

Staring down the barrel of Rus’s gun, Edge idly wondered why the fates had been so cruel. Rus’s fingers were shaking, and all Edge wanted to do was take his hands and  _hold_ them. He wanted to whisper to Rus, wipe the tears away from his cheekbones and tell him it would be okay. That they would figure this out—like they always did.

But he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t fix this.  _Nothing_ would fix this.

As Rus watched him, hands trembling around the gun, his breath hitched, more tears forming at his sockets. “i-it was you… all this time…”

Edge tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to look Rus in the eye, tried to keep his expression neutral.  _Remain calm._ “Rus,” he said carefully, lifting his hands defensively as he backed closer to the wall. “I want you to know that nothing I did was to hurt you. I love—”

“ _liar,_ ” Rus hissed, and the word stung Edge. “every day i came home from work—e-every day i told you h-how much the case was getting to me. how much  _pain_ it was causing me—and you—” Rus broke off, inhaling sharply. “it was you. you were the one we were looking for. you were the one who… edge, you—” Rus’s voice had begun to shake now, and his phalanges rattled against the gun. “all th-those people you’ve hurt… how—how could you—?”

Edge didn’t dare take his eyes off Rus’s face, but every second of looking at him brought only pain. The hurt—the  _betrayal—_ in Rus’s eyes cut deep into Edge’s soul. He fought back his own tears and shook his head. “I needed—I had to keep you safe. I did it for—”

“fuck you,” Rus spat, stepping forward. Edge flinched away from the gun, which hovered mere inches from his face. A single twitch of Rus’s finger and Edge’s skull would be in pieces on the warehouse floor. “don’t you dare—don’t you  _dare_ put this on me.” Fury had replaced the hurt in Rus’s voice, his eye socket flaring gold. “you lied to me. you kept me in the dark while i—” Rus’s breath shook, his brief burst of anger wavering. “s-stars i—i’m such an idiot. that entire time…”

“You’re not,” Edge whispered, holding his gaze reassuringly. “You’re not—you’re  _perfect,_ Rus. But I—I had to—I couldn’t…”

“you could’ve  _told_ me,” Rus choked, the pain re-emerging. “for months—for  _months,_ i’ve been the lead detective on your case. all those times i c-came home on the verge of breaking down and you…” Rus gasped and broke off, bringing a hand to his mouth and letting the gun drop to his side as violent sobs shook his chest. “is that… is that all i was to you? some—some easy fuck and a source for all your intel?”

“ _No_ ,” Edge said firmly, daring a step forward. When Rus didn’t move, Edge tentatively rested a hand on his arm, squeezing it. “I love you, Rus—I  _love_ you. I always have. I…I spent every day hating myself— _wishing_ I could tell you.”

“so why  _didn’t_ you?” Rus asked, desperately.

“Because they would’ve  _killed_ you, Rus,” Edge said, exasperated. “Stars, if they even  _knew_ I was married to you, they would have…” Edge swallowed, clinging to Rus to still the shaking of his own hands. “I’ve always loved you, Rus— _always._ This… this was…” Edge’s voice trailed into silence.

Raindrops echoed off the warehouse’s cheap tin roof. Neither Edge nor Rus spoke a word, but their silence was charged with that desperation—that  _need_ for comfort. A comfort neither of them could provide or accept…

Edge eyed the cuffs clipped onto Rus’s belt. The rest of Rus’s force would be here any minute. If Edge was caught…

He leaned in close to Rus, cupping his face and running his thumb over the tear-streaks of magic coating his cheekbones. “I will always love you, Rus,” he whispered. Carefully, he pried the gun from Rus’s unsteady hand, placing it on the floor. “We can figure this out. Do you understand me? I love you. We—we can get through this…” He pressed his forehead against Rus’s as Rus began to cry again. Edge hushed him with a soft kiss, tasting the salt and sugar of Rus’s tears. He cupped Rus’s neck and deepened the kiss, guiding Rus closer to him.

As Rus began to melt into the kiss, Edge reached for the cuffs and carefully unclipped them, then slipped them quickly around Rus’s wrist and clasped them around the steampipe running along the length of the wall. His soul ached as he pulled away from Rus, who stared at him, sockets growing wide. “I-I’m sorry,” Edge choked, shaking his head and backing slowly away from Rus. “I can’t—if they catch me—”

“you…” Rus yanked on the cuffs uselessly and they clanged against the metal pipe. Magic flooded his left eye socket as rage overcame him. “you bastard! take them off—take them off! edge!”

But Edge was already halfway across the room, his hurried footsteps echoing through the warehouse as he walked towards the door. Tears falling down his face, he tried to ignore Rus’s cries of anguish. He clenched his fists at his sides and grit his teeth.  _Remain. Calm._

The deafening sound of Rus’s gun going off was the only warning Edge received before pain sliced through his left shoulder. Crying out, he stumbled forward, wrenching the door open and rushing outside.

“you fucking bastard!” Rus yelled after him, and Edge could tell without looking that he was crying again. “i—i hate you, edge! i fucking hate you—”

Edge slammed the door behind him before slumping to the ground and burying his face in his hands. Magic and marrow dripped from his shoulder, but the pain was secondary to the unbearable ache in his soul. Heavy raindrops splattered around his feet, and thunder rumbled over the distant city.

Broken and defeated, Edge began to cry.


	11. A needle in my side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** Rottenjoke (SF Sans/UT Sans)  
>  **Tags:** Criminal AU, Soulmate AU, Angst, Dark fic  
>  **Warnings: Non-consensual soul touching, soul-piercing, semi-graphic torture, sexual slavery**
> 
> Heavy non-con theme here, so please be careful.

Sans eyed the clipboard being presented to him with vague indifference. “what are the new shipments?” he asked.

“Nothin’ interestin’,” the dockman said, shrugging. He flipped through the pages. “Couple a’ snowbunnies, a few felines—heard there might be a glyde.”

Sans hummed with disinterest, waving the dockman away. In the cold fog of the harbour was not where he wanted to be at four o’clock in the morning. He had sleep to catch up on—and a lot of it. Unfortunately, the boss had had him running errands since his slip up with the cops a few weeks ago. Somewhat demeaning errands too—the low level stuff. Sans hadn’t been sent to collect a shipment since his first year working for these people.

He yawned and wandered to the edge of the docks, boarding the freighter. He weaved his way through the stacks of cargo—he wasn’t here for them. Below decks he found what he was looking for. Several wooden crates with airholes drilled into them.

One of the crewmen was waiting for him. He greeted Sans nervously, and cast him wary glances as he pried open the first crate. A snowbunny tumbled out onto the floor, clinging to herself. She scrambled out of Sans’ way as he strode past her, her shackles clanking.

As expected, there were ten crates in total; their suppliers had remained honest, for once. Sans almost wondered if that’s why the boss had sent him, instead of some thick-skulled thug, as they normally did. A lot of their cargo had mysteriously gone missing from their past few shipments. Sans’ reputation preceded him, it seemed.

By the time they reached the final crate, the other ‘shipments’ had been lined up against the wall and shackled together. They quivered and dipped their heads when Sans passed them, but he ignored them. The crewman wrenched open the final crate with his crowbar, and Sans’ brow bones went up. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a dull morning after all.

There was a skeleton monster inside.

He was curled up in the corner of the crate, his gaze sharp and dangerous. Unlike the others, he didn’t look away when Sans surveyed him, meeting him head on. There were chips in his bones, and a prominent scar across his right eye socket. It looked old.

“come on, sweetheart,” Sans said, beckoning him from the crate. “in line.”

Instead of obeying, the skeleton spat on the straw in front of him, creeping further back into his crate. “Go fuck yourself.”

Sans raised a brow bone, unimpressed. With no more than a flick of his wrist, he caught the skeleton’s soul in a tight, blue grip and dragged him from the crate, despite his snarls and protests. He could feel the monster fighting the hold, but his shackles rendered his magic inept. He thumped heavily onto the floor as Sans released him, and his hands curled into fists. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sans asked, stifling a yawn. “now come on. in line.”

The skeleton remained where he was, drawing himself up on his hands and knees. His breathing was heavy as he murmured, “No.”

Sans smirked. “no?”

“You heard me,” the skeleton growled, scraping his fingers over the wooden deck. The other shipments stared at him, wide-eyed—then at Sans, trembling in fear of his ire. Sans studied the skeleton at his feet, humming in consideration.

Making up his mind, he glanced at the crewman, snapping his fingers. “take the rest of them up to the truck. my associate will be waiting for you on the dock.” The crewman nodded hastily and guided the shackled monsters up the stairs and onto the upper deck. Sans heard him closing the ship’s access hatch behind him. Once he was gone, Sans turned back to the skeleton, studying him curiously. “still got some fight in you, i see. don’t worry, love, we’ll take care of that shortly.”

The skeleton’s eyes followed Sans closely, the magenta piercing. He didn’t speak, but his demeanour reeked of hostility and disobedience—something Sans’ people didn’t tolerate. Typically, these types would be written off and used as free EXP or cannon fodder. But skeleton monsters were rare—and worth half a fortune if you could find the right buyer. Undoubtedly, their suppliers had decided to overlook this skeleton’s authority issues due to his worth. And the bitter responsibility of training him had fallen to Sans.

Sighing, he crouched down in front of the skeleton, examining him. “those are some pretty scars you’ve got there, darling,” he observed. “i’d be more than happy to add a few more, but—well, i have a lunch date, and i don’t wanna ruin my suit.” The skeleton frowned, sharp teeth pressed together suspiciously. “plus—we’ve gotta keep you pretty. better for sales, you know?”

The skeleton’s frown deepened into a look of disgust. “You’re sick,” he spat.

Sans sighed. “let’s see what we can do about that attitude, yeah?”

The skeleton opened his mouth to retort, but broke off with a strangled choke when Sans wrenched his soul from his chest. The skeleton’s sockets widened, and for the first time, Sans saw fear in his expression. He pulled up a stool and sat down, taking the skeleton’s soul from where it hung in the air. “N-no! What are you doing?” the skeleton protested, trying frantically to reach for his soul, but stumbling over the shackles around his wrists and ankles. “Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare!”

Sans cradled the soul tenderly, running his index finger over the crease, and making the skeleton shudder. The outer shell of the organ was hard and rough, and the purple light coming from it was dim. “tough nut to crack,” Sans said, pondering the soul in his hand. “that’s fine. i have until noon.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a thin, sharp needle.

The skeleton stared at it, a mixture of confounded and terrified. “What—what is that?” he stammered. Sans ignored him and breathed magic onto the needle, heating it until it burned to the touch. He held it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. The shackled skeleton’s sockets widened in panic as he touched the tip to the surface of his soul. “Don’t—don’t you fucking—!” His words were lost in a wretched choke as Sans pushed the needle into the hard shell of his soul. A trickle of purple magic oozed from within, and the skeleton screamed, crumpling onto his side and thrashing.

Something painful speared through Sans’ chest and he gasped, almost dropping the soul. He let go of the needle and it fell into the straw at his feet. He stared at the skeleton, who had gone limp, panting and sweating magic. Sans’ chest still throbbed sharply, but he squeezed his sockets closed and pushed back against the pain. Showing weakness in front of the prisoner would only prolong this.

“you enjoy that?” Sans asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. “that feel good, sweetheart?” He stroked his thumb over the puncture in the soul—and astoundingly, a shudder passed through his own body. He stopped, and tightened his grip around the skeleton’s soul.  _What was happening?!_

Slowly, the skeleton looked up at him; his eyes were full of fury, even amidst the pain. “You’re all kinds of fucked up, you pathetic lowlife.”

Sighing, Sans nodded. “that’s a pity. a real pity.” Needle lost, Sans summoned a thin, fine-pointed bone to replicate it. “guess we’ll have to keep trying.” He watched the skeleton closely, and inhaled, bracing himself this time before he pushed the needle-like bone back into the soul, deeper and harder this time. The skeleton screamed and writhed—but so did Sans, collapsing onto the floor.

The bone vanished and the sharp ache in Sans’ chest lessened. He lay on his side, breathing harshly, still clinging to the other skeleton’s soul. Swallowing, he looked down at his chest. A thick patch of blue magic had soaked through his shirt. Horrified, Sans tore at it, exposing his ribcage. Through it, he could see his soul, leaking magic through a deep wound right at its centre. He stared at it, then looked back at the purple soul in his hand. The wounds matched.

Scowling, Sans yanked his shirt closed and climbed back onto the stool. He held the other skeleton’s soul tightly in his fist—but not tight enough to cause pain. Clearly, that was no longer an option. That was fine. He could get creative.

It was a pity about the other skeleton’s bones, though. Broken monsters didn’t sell nearly as well. And… Sans cast a bitter glance down at his soiled shirt. He was going to have to cancel his date. It appeared he’d already found his soulmate.


	12. Captain of the darkest seas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ship:** TwistedMoney (Twistfell Papyrus/Swapfell KH Papyrus)  
>  **Tags:** Arranged Marriage, Supernatural elements, Pirate AU, Angst  
>  **Warnings:** Unwanted marriage, mention of unwanted soul-bonding, implied emotional manipulation

The ship creaked and swayed on the waters, nothing but a gentle breeze stirring them. The night was cold and foreboding, black clouds swallowing the stars and pale moon. Even below decks, the air held a biting chill.

Cash held himself tightly, shivering as the icy air crept between the crevices of his bones. The Captain’s cabin was pitch black but for the single flickering candle beside the bed. Its flame was a cold blue—strange and foreign, its light entirely uncomforting to Cash.

He drew his knees to his chest, sinking further back against the wall. Nothing here was right. As soon as he’d set foot on the Van Der Decken, something sinister had crept into the back of his mind, shifting the pieces of his perception of reality and leaving him vulnerable. The ship itself was normal by all appearances—but then, it wasn’t. The light—what little of it there was—did not produce warmth. The pale silver-blue flames of the ship’s candles left Cash with frost-coated bones. He’d been guided below deck, where he’d instantly been swallowed by darkness. Only at his insistence had a candle been lit in the cabin as he sat in wait for the Captain.

The cabin itself was relatively ordinary—what of it Cash could see, in any case. Perhaps a little cluttered. Books and relics and odd trinkets were scattered over the Captain’s desk, and portraits hung from the walls, the cold silver light casting unsettling shadows across their gaunt faces. The room had no portholes, completely closed off from the open sea. Trapped and alone, Cash shuddered, curling in on himself.

The cabin door creaked open and Cash flinched, pressing himself closer to the wall as the shadow of the Captain emerged in the doorway.

 

_The Captain of the Van Der Decken is a powerful ally to have, brother. Your marriage to him is a necessity—for the good of the crew._

 

Shrouded by darkness, Cash could discern nothing of the Captain but his silhouette. He was a lot taller than Cash was, and his shoulders were broader. He stepped inside, closing the door silently behind him. As the light of the pale flame caught his bones, they glittered a myriad of colours, and Cash came to realise they were infused with smooth scales. Even in the darkness, Cash could see the pale glow of his eyes—completely white, sockets and all.

Cash trembled as the Captain’s heavy boots thudded against the wooden deck. He stopped a few inches from the candle’s light, his face still shadowed. “Yer gonna have ta come a little closer, love.” When he spoke, Cash felt a thousand small chills running down his spine. Though gentle, his voice was deep and unnatural. He tapped a finger against the corner of one of his eye sockets. “Can’ really see ya—sailor’s eyes.”

Cash was certain he’d never heard of sailors whose visibility was limited to the darkness. Incurring the infamous Captain’s wrath was not on his agenda for the evening however, so slowly, he inched himself off the bed, approaching. His soul clenched in terror as he stepped out of the circle of light, the darkness enveloping him in its cold embrace.

Trembling, he looked up at his husband-to-be.

This close, Cash noticed that his eyes weren’t entirely white. They bore a hint of blue—pale, much like the scales on his bones. One was paler than the other—as if it had been hazed over. The surrounding socket was shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, spreading outward and down his cheekbone.

Cash withheld a startled hiss as the Captain brushed his cheekbone with the palm of his hand, cupping his face as his eyes darted over him. “Yer very beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself. His fingers moved over Cash’s eye socket, straying to the patch covering his right one. “Violet magic… pretty colour.” His hand rested against Cash’s face for a few seconds before he allowed it to drop. Cash slumped with relief—until the Captain curled an arm around his waist and guided him to the bed. “Let’s sit, we’ve got a lot ta discuss.”

Cash obeyed stiffly, not daring to speak or resist. “Sorry—this thing’s givin’ me a bit of a headache,” the Captain said, reaching for the candle as they sat. “Ya don’ mind, do ya?” Cash shook his head mutely, closing his eyes and whispering a silent prayer as the Captain blew the flame out. “Much better,” the Captain said, and Cash felt him shifting on the mattress beside him. He could sense the Captain’s proximity, but unable to see him, he felt bare and vulnerable.

“Ya got a name, precious?” the Captain asked, tilting Cash’s chin. Even in the darkness, Cash could detect the subtle silver-blue glow of his eyes.

Cash nodded slowly. “it’s… cash,” he murmured, trying to turn his face away. Although he couldn’t see him—he could  _feel_ the penetrating stare of the Captain’s cold eyes. “don’t suppose i get to learn yours?” he asked, putting on an air of bravery, despite the way his bones rattled. “infamous captain of the van der decken’s identity’s gotta be kept secret, right? even…” Cash broke off, realising himself. His frustrations were getting the better of him. Breathing shakily, he shook his head, whispering, “i—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean…”

The Captain didn’t move, his hand still resting on Cash’s jaw. “Not gonna keep any secrets from ya, love,” he said at last. “Y’can call me Twist. Or Cap’n—if that takes yer fancy.”

“twist,” Cash said, his voice tight as he tested the word. Putting a name to the strange face of the Captain was somewhat gratifying—if not a little unsettling. Deciding it best to keep his thoughts to himself this time, Cash simply nodded. They sat in silence for a few uncomfortable seconds. Cash wished he could see the expression on Twist’s face—if just to know if he’d upset him in any way. “I… take it yer brother told ya the, erm—details a’ this arrangement?” Twist asked.

“yeah…” Cash’s voice was barely a whisper, almost lost in the quiet slap of the waves against the ship’s side. “we’re to marry, and then…” Cash’s voice broke as the horror of reality began to set in again. A quiet sob threatened to escape his tight throat.

“The soul bond ain’t—” Twist’s voice was strained, and Cash heard him swallowing thickly before continuing. “If it’s not somethin’ ya want, I ain’t gonna force ya, precious. Understand me?”

 

 _The Captain of the Van Der Decken is merciless, brother. He’s owned the seas for centuries. Those who displease him are not met with kindness—do_ not  _disappoint him, lest you doom us all._

Cash’s eye sockets felt wet, and a heavy breath shook his chest. “yeah, it’s—f-fine.” His voice caught, his words freezing in his mouth. A broken sob hitched his chest, and he ducked his head, hugging himself. He was helpless to stop the tears, his whole body shaking with terror and despair. “i’m sorry,” he whimpered. “i meant you no disrespect. i won’t—we can—”

Cash released a small whine as he felt Twist’s arms enveloping him. All protests died in his throat when Twist cradled him against his chest, hushing him softly with gentle words and delicate caresses down his spine. “Yer okay, love. Yer alrigh’. Let it out.”

Panicked, Cash stilled, his breaths emerging harsh and ragged. Twist made no move but to soothe him however, his embrace careful and delicate. His arms were cold and he smelled like salt and ice. Cash slumped against him, his warm tears staining the cloth of Twist’s shirt. “If I’m gonna be yers… and if yer gonna be mine, then we’ve got ta trust each other,” Twist whispered. “Until then—yer not alone… Patches.” Twist’s fingertips brushed the patch over Cash’s eye socket. “I’ve got ya, yer safe with me.”

 

_He’s fearsome and ruthless. Don’t make an enemy of him._

Despite the echo of his brother’s words in his head, Cash quickly found himself relaxing into Twist’s arms, pressing his skull against his sternum and inhaling, his breath trembling. Twist cradled him close—warm, protective intent emanating from him. “Yer not alone,” he murmured, kissing the crown of Cash’s skull. “Yer not alone, Patches. Yer not alone. I’ve got ya.”

Twist repeated the words, over and over, until they began to drown out all other thought. They sounded almost rehearsed, as if Twist had grown practiced at saying them. Cash allowed Twist to tuck him snugly beneath his arm. His body was cold, but being pressed so close to him was comfortable. And though nothing about this place felt quite right… this did.

**Author's Note:**

> I post all my writing to [@dragonfics](https://dragonfics.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for anyone interested in following me there. (The blog is NSFW, so 18+ only, please).
> 
> Thank you for reading! ^_^


End file.
